


In the Light of Day

by stupidsoul



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidsoul/pseuds/stupidsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Kmeme.  M!Hawke wakes up to unexpected company after a night of drunkenness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Light of Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kmeme prompt: _"Today, I woke up next to my best friend after lots of drinking and the best sex I've ever had in my life. The only problem is we're both straight males. FML" i can't be the only one thinking this is perfect for them ! come on, anons !_

His memory was patchy at best. But for Hawke, who had awoken on many occasions in a variety of settings without any clue as to how he had gotten there, this was not an immediate cause for concern. He had been drinking excessively, of that he was certain. The taste of alcohol still clung to his tongue and coated the back of his throat, turning filmy and unpleasant after a night of rest. But this was typically the worst effect of his indulgences. He was among those fortunate few who did not suffer nausea, headaches, or sensitivity to light. His hangovers came only in the mild form of lethargy, the slight dulling of his focus, a delay in his reaction time. Experience had taught him to relish those initially sluggish seconds, lingering in the comforts of a warm bed without making any effort to rouse himself. With eyes still shut, he took in the weight of someone's arm draped across his waist, body heat seeping into the uncovered skin of his back. Whatever had gone on the prior evening, Hawke had not been alone and that knowledge drew a smile across his lips.

He rather enjoyed mornings like these, the thrill of not quite knowing what mischief he had landed himself into, whether he'd soon be ushered out in an elaborate escape route designed by some married noble woman or be enticed to revisit the pleasures of barmaid with a heaving bosom, whose talents would retain their novelty thanks to influence of alcohol induced amnesia. Hawke's mind attempted to piece together the missing portions of the previous day, fragments of images and flashes of sensations eventually surfacing in a spill of tangled recollections that were impossible to tease apart into any cohesive summary of events. But he remembered enough. Lips pushed to his, fervent in their hunger; short strands of his hair twisted between insistent fingers, pulling him closer; the slick, wet heat of a tongue trailing a downward path until it could tease the line of his hipbone. He felt his body jolt with arousal at the mere shadow of remembrance for what came next.

The way that mouth had worked him so close to the edge until his mind went black with euphoria and then pulled away with a hesitant but apologetic smile, even now it left his breathing labored. _I don't imagine that's very good. I've never done anything like this before._ Though Hawke could remember the words, he couldn't remember the voice that had spoken them, the timbre lost to the humble manner with which they had been imparted. That had been the clearest of his memories, the rest a jumble of flickering impressions. A smaller body pinned beneath his, another kiss that had been sloppy in its execution but fiercely passionate. But even without the details, he knew it had been good - very good - every muscle in his body still hummed with a pleasantly sated ache.

Hawke exhaled slowly, curious to see what answers would come as he opened his eyes. Yet, he found his surroundings bafflingly familiar, the decor signaling one of the guest rooms of his own estate. But who would he have even thought to bring back to his home when his mother's presence - though she was now gone - lingered still in every hallway, every selection made in the decor of each room? Turning slowly, he paused to press his face into the pillow, the fabric warmed by an exiting breath, and then at last the rotation was completed. Hawke could only stare. His companion lay sleeping next to him, undisturbed by whatever hasty movement was made as he all but sprung back in surprise upon discovering that it was not the face of a stranger that had awaited him, but that of a close friend.

His mind reeled in protest, grasping for explanations that would make sense of this strange, unfathomable turn of events. A mage's spell, a bad batch of brew, an elaborate trick played by Varric or Isabela. It must have been one of those, and yet, the truth came crashing over him in irrefutable detail. He remembered going out to meet the others at the Hanged Man, a celebration after his triumph against the Arishok, and how he had finally convinced a reluctant Sebastian to join them. ("There's nothing in that vow of chastity of yours that says anything about not having a tankard of ale - or two!") But the archer's years of avoidance had left him with almost no tolerance to speak of. As the night had progressed and the others had trickled off to their respective homes, Hawke had assured Varric he would get Sebastian back to the Chantry safely. He'd said this with barely a slur on his tongue or stumble in his step. Hawke had always been a high functioning drunk. But he'd only made it halfway through Hightown before those final shots of whiskey he'd knocked back took their full effect, and he'd used his last bit of good judgment to decide that he was in no shape to fight off highwaymen or assassins should he make the wrong turn. Home had been closer, and Sebastian with a blissful grin and a sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze had only nodded after Hawke's suggestion that they both stay there for the night. Exactly when Hawke's intoxicated brain decided that the way Sebastian was looking at him was an invitation for something more, Hawke couldn't be sure. Neither of them had ever shown the slightest inclination toward other men, and yet, there they had been with eager kisses, clumsy hands unlatching fastens, curious touches exploring newly uncovered skin. Hawke could not deny he'd enjoyed what had gone on between them. Every memory was laced with pleasure that still coiled taut inside of him, awaiting release, after it was dredged up from the dark corners of his mind.

His hand reached out in an experimental re-enactment of one of the more reserved acts of intimacy he had performed the evening prior, a simple caress falling across the sleeping man's face. Sebastian remained peacefully unaware, looking oddly content where he rested. His lashes were curved against his cheeks, and though they fluttered slightly at the unexpected feel of warmth pressed against his skin, his eyes never opened. But even this was too much, and Hawke retreated, arm snapping back to his side as he rolled himself out of bed and scrambled to gather his clothing. He had no idea what he might tell his friend once he awoke, and despite facing down dragons, demons, and ogres, Hawke all but ran from Sebastian Vael once he had managed some semblance of being clothed.

It was two hours later and seven failed mental rehearsals of what explanations might be given when Sebastian finally appeared downstairs.

"Sebastian." The Champion of Kirkwall found he could not quite raise his gaze to meet that of his friend's. Instead it was far easier to notice the careful arrangement of his armor, which had once lain in scattered pieces across the guest room floor. Hawke forced the thought out of his head, still unable to fully address what had happened between them, even in his own mind. It made it impossible to get out even the start of the speech he'd been practicing all morning. "Can I fetch you some breakfast?"

Sebastian smiled without reservation, and Hawke found that it possessed some new effect of making him feel very weak in the knees. "I appreciate your hospitality, Hawke, but I think I've already overstayed my welcome. I hadn't meant to sleep in so late, but I'm afraid alcohol has always had a rather potent effect on me." The prince turned to look askance, his features cutting a striking profile against the pale backdrop of the wall. It made more obvious the furrow in his brow, the mark of a troubled mind. Hawke braced himself for the worst.

 _Here it comes. You should have said something._

"Hawke, I - " Sebastian hesitated. "I must apologize for my behavior last night."

"Whatever do you mean?" The reply came out in a half-strangled voice, so different from the easy banter and bold wit that Hawke usually spoke with. But Sebastian did not seem to notice the difference, lost in his own thoughts.

"Do you really not know? I imagine there is a reason I woke up in your home," he spoke at last, each statement carefully made as though he had considered every word before he gave it. A steady flush colored his cheeks and the archer resumed his silence for what felt to Hawke an excruciating amount of time. "I was likely in no state to return to the Chantry, and I cannot thank you enough for sparing me any embarrassment I might have caused there. But I never should have placed such a burden on you."

Hawke nodded, and then opened his mouth only to find that his voice would not cooperate. All that escaped his lips was the heave of a sigh. He should have been doing more than listening to his friend's apology. Confessions ought to have followed. He owed it to Sebastian to explain his part in what had left the prince's vows of chastity broken, and yet, his throat locked up against such words. Was it not better to leave his friend in blissful ignorance than to open the floodgates of guilt? He knew Sebastian too well to believe the other would so easily brush off the experience, recovering with little more than a quick prayer to the Maker like some of lesser faith might.

But his train of thought was broken as Sebastian stepped in closer, one arm raised with fingers half-curved and hovering awkwardly for a second not far from Hawke. Sebastian's expression once again turned pensive, eyebrows knit over the bright blue of an intense gaze, yet whatever thoughts plagued him were never given voice. His fingers at last fell to clasp the other man on the shoulder.

"You are a good friend, Hawke."

Shame twisted in the pit of Hawke's stomach, but Sebastian had already gone before he could form any reply.


End file.
